


Two Days, Two Knights

by wolftraptobaltimore (ogidni)



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: ABO Universe, Alpha Tristan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkward puberty, M/M, Omega Galahad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Lubrication, Sexy Wrestling, Tristhad Fest, less awkward adulthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogidni/pseuds/wolftraptobaltimore
Summary: Galahad hefted the staff into his hands and checked on the weight and grip of it. He then tested the staff that had been aimed at Tristan. Deciding this one suited him better, he dropped the former at Tristan’s feet.“This one knows its mark,” Galahad provided.“Cheeky little shit…” Tristan chided before picking up the abandoned staff which he readily struck down against Galahad’s without any warning.---Fic inspired by a gifset from the lovelySirenja!





	Two Days, Two Knights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/gifts), [RoedValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoedValkyrie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tumblr Gifset Fic Request!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/287697) by Sirenja. 



> Without further ado, this is a gift for the lovely master of gifsets, [Sirenja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/pseuds/Sirenja), and a fic request fill for [Rednikjow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednikjow/pseuds/Rednikjow). Thanks to Sirenja and Rednikjow for inspiring us with [this post](http://sirenja-and-the-stag.tumblr.com/post/159987749133/rednikjow-hat-auf-deine-bilderserie-geantwortet). 
> 
> ABO Tristhad is fun too <3
> 
> Just a reminder that we like to troll tumblr for amazing fic prompts/requests. Find us [here](https://wolftraptobaltimore.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

There was still mud on the ground from the rain that had fallen two days ago, despite a brief respite from the gloomy weather, when Galahad and Tristan squared off in a dirt arena usually used for breaking young horses. Earlier that morning, Gawain and Galahad had engaged in a sparring match that had yielded no winner. 

 

By virtue of being older and larger than Galahad, Gawain should have easily won, but called for a mutual surrender once he noticed the strange fatigue slowing Galahad’s motions. Galahad’s loud protests and wheedling attracted the attention of Tristan who was irritated enough by the complaints to step into the ring himself.

 

“If you’re so eager to have yourself knocked to the ground, I’d be glad to oblige.” Tristan rolled his shoulder sinuously and climbed over the high fence to join Galahad in the center of the arena.

 

He whistled to Dagonet, who silently shook his head when Tristan motioned toward two dulled training blades that rested against the blacksmith’s workbench. Instead, two wooden staffs were hurled one after the other like javelins to stick in the dirt — one close to Tristan, and the other in front of Galahad.

 

Galahad hefted the staff into his hands and checked on the weight and grip of it as Tristan regarded Dagonet with a sharp look of disapproval. He then tested the staff that had been aimed at Tristan. Deciding this one suited him better, he dropped the former at Tristan’s feet.

 

“This one knows its mark,” Galahad provided.

 

“Cheeky little shit…” Tristan chided before picking up the abandoned staff which he readily struck down against Galahad’s without any warning.

 

Galahad had just enough time to block, but the percussive force of the blow sent tremors through his arms and caused his teeth to clack against each other painfully in his mouth. He would have complained if Tristan did not follow it all up with a viciously swift combination of cuts and thrusts. He retaliated with his own maneuvers that mostly glanced off of Tristan’s well placed blocks until one hit the scout’s lower gut.

 

“Oomph!” Tristan was too skilled in combat to do something so foolish as let go of his weapon and redoubled his efforts instead. He quickly had Galahad on his back with the long edge of his staff firmly held to the swelling of Galahad’s throat.

 

The youngest recruit growled lowly — albeit voicelessly, due to the staff pushed tightly against his windpipe — and bucked wildly under the press of Tristan’s knee on his lower abdomen until it slipped down between his thrashing legs. He was able to gain enough leverage to lift his hips and give himself more room to move until Tristan suddenly let go of his staff and pinned Galahad’s hips to the ground with one splayed hand. The other remained clutched around Galahad’s neck.

 

Something seemed amiss. Tristan tsked peevishly in his victory while his eyebrows gathered to peak at his forehead.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re bleeding from your ass, boy. I didn’t hit you that hard and the old lady’s cooking can’t have ruined your insides quite yet…” Despite his joking, Tristan was both concerned and perplexed as he struggled to identify the source of the dampness against his thigh while Galahad continued to squirm beneath him. “Should have listened to Gawain, likely you’re in no condition to —”

 

Tristan froze, shoving his hand roughly between the young boy’s legs. He pried none too gently at the apex of Galahad’s thighs and plucked at the darkened seat of his pants. When he brought his hand closer for inspection, the wetness that shined on the tips of his fingers was clear, not red, and above all the scent was _jarring_. 

 

Galahad seized the chance to knee the scout in the groin while Tristan was otherwise distracted before running off to avoid retribution.

 

Dagonet smirked silently and Gawain jogged off in the same direction Galahad had disappeared.

 

\---

 

Tristan threw open the tent flap embroidered with Arthur’s regal seal. Inside, Lancelot sat across from his commander, poised over a game of chess.

 

“Oi, Lancelot. Best tend to your son. He’s a sop.”

 

The dark knight laughed. “What’d he do now?”

 

“Soaked his clothes wrestling with me.”

 

Lancelot rolled his eyes; Arthur, on the other hand, blanched.

 

“No,” Lancelot went on, “but what did he  _ really _ do? Got into the wineskins again?”

 

“I pinned him and he got wetter than a tavern whore,” Tristan returned flatly. 

 

“Tristan!” Lancelot snapped, his hand instinctively settling on the hilt of his sword. Arthur knocked it away, but stood himself. 

 

“Tristan, do you mean to say —”

 

“Aye. I don’t know how else to say it. I held him down just by the shoulders. We were sparring. When I got my leg between his —”

 

“That’s impossible,” Lancelot hissed. Arthur held him back bodily now. A strange tension stretched brittle between them, with Tristan’s flinty eyes giving no ground, and Lancelot’s indignance flushing him red. 

 

Arthur sniffed the air discreetly and instantly knew the full measure of Galahad’s circumstances. He let go of his hold on Lancelot, and spoke evenly before either man could tackle the other. “It’s imperative that we find the boy before too long. We’ll straighten everything out first, and then you two can have a go at each other if you should still feel the need.”

 

Lancelot postured one last time and stomped stormily out to see to Tristan’s falsehoods.

 

\---

 

Spring had come early to the Roman outpost indeed. Arthur looked at the wilting shoulders of his newest knight-to-be and found him all the more morose among the fragrant roses and brightly colored narcissus that popped up in various corners of their encampment. He saw a bit of the son he had not yet borne himself in Galahad and sympathized with the sense of dread that must be welling inside the young boy because it was cousin to the unease brewing inside of himself.

 

Once the reality of his presentation had been explained to him, Galahad had quickly come to the same conclusion his actual father had shared with Arthur a short while ago.

 

“If I’m an omega, it would be dangerous for me to be a knight,” Galahad stated plainly.

 

“In a way,” Arthur agreed lightly without pressing Galahad to go any further.

 

Galahad’s brows furrowed in anguish and frustration as he stabbed the tip of his dagger repeatedly into the wooden bench he sat on.

 

“I’ve trained.”

 

“You have.”

 

“I’ve proven myself.”

 

“Certainly so.”

 

“I’d like to…” Galahad raised a very knightly and resolute face to his commander “...stay here as your sword and protector if you’d still have me.”

 

Knights were not accustomed to asking such enormous permissions as these. It was hard for Arthur not to to be crushed by the weight of the young man’s desperation, and yet there was still honor. The honor of a true Sarmatian.

  
“You are a man today, Galahad.” Arthur stretched out a wide palm and patted Galahad’s shoulder twice before smiling reassuringly. “A man is capable of many things once he sets his mind to them.”


End file.
